Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Gentle beads of precipitation clung to the hair of Miley Cyrus as she hopped off a plane at LAX, with a dream and her cardigan. Her dream, of course, concerned the 18th birthday celebration which was her destination for the evening. Finally an adult in the eyes of the law, Miley reveled in the idea of finally transitioning from child-star to adult-sensation. This transition would, of course, not only concern her media persona but would also extend to her social vices. She knew the party would be populated by plenty of eager, youthful men hoping to stake their claim as her first. But they, of course, thought her a virgin, which was far from the truth. As she jumped in a cab, she thought back to her first time. Raindrops glistening on the glass sent her mind into a rewind, rekindling memories of her first sexual experience, the first time she had ever experienced that inexplicable euphoria of orgasm, by the tentacles of a 900-pound colossal squid.
Miley’s tummy started turning, and she felt kinda sea-sick as her mind replayed the events of that April afternoon. The calm silence within which she had discovered that temperature-controlled tank, broken only by a gentle ripple of saline against its tempered glass. The pale pink flesh of those soft, rubbery tentacles of the beast within. Then, that feeling of terror mixed with fascination as the tentacles came to life, grasping her limbs as they pulled her within an icy brine.
At first she had resisted, as anyone would, but the initial fear and dread subsided as Miley found herself succumbing to the gentle fondling of the tentacles as they entwined her limbs, amiable cups of suction caressing her tender skin as if a thousand mouths kissed her every crevasse. Though inhumane, the beast somehow knew how to pleasure the female anatomy, sending Miley into fits of euphoric passion unknown to her juvenile mind. Having relinquished all power to the pelagic pedophile, Miley floated for what seemed like hours within the beast’s powerful, yet supple, grasp until she finally conceded to the cephalopod climax.
That’s when the taxi man turned on the radio, and auditory recognition that a Jay-Z song was on brought Miley back to the present day. Striving to quickly regain her composure, Miley noted that her hair was no longer the only wet part of her body, though this additional moisture could not be credited to the rain.
She arrived at the club in her taxi cab to find everyone looking at her, now. Opening the door and planting her rockin’ kicks firmly on the ground, Miley made her way into the club, expecting to find satisfaction for the ravenous and precocious desires of her newly minted 18 year old self.
Yet as the evening wore on, Miley found her enthusiasm and interest lacking at the field of nubile human suitors before her. Though she kinda slutted it up with Avan Jogia, whoever the fuck that is, her mind continually replayed that first sexual encounter. As various teenage boys strove to please her, Miley found herself lamenting their severely limited limbs. How could a woman, knowing the pleasure from eight limbs, ever settle for the paltry pleasure of four? Of all the boys she sampled (and there were quite a few) none could elevate Miley to even half the mindless delirium of that first time, that first squid.
Frustrated and feeling fervor for fornication frenzy, Miley quit the club and entered a cab, deciding to head to Monterey Bay which, for the sake of this story, we shall pretend is not a six hour drive from Los Angeles.
Miley arrived at the Monterey Bay aquarium and leapt from the cab with euphoric expectancy that her impatience with infantile impotence would abdicate to an experienced, eight-pronged teuthidic touch. Finding the main entrance locked, as she had arrived in the early morning, Miley wandered the exterior of the building in the hopes of finding an unlocked door, recalling that such an entrance had afforded her passage to her first bout of animalistic appeasement.
Inspecting the back of the building, Miley found that she could utilize a rear entrance without suffering hindrance. She smirked to herself, hoping that the lover she desired would find her own body to have a similar quality. As she made her way in the out door, Miley sought a map by which she could navigate to her desired destination. Following the delightfully intuitive architecture of the Monterey Bay Aquarium, Miley soon found herself in the presence of such a map, only to be disheartened beyond measure.
There was no squid exhibit! No octopus exhibit! No cuttlefish! Despite a wealth of aquatic wildlife, the aquarium housed no creature which could satiate the desires of her octo-pussy! Overcome by sensual agony, Miley dropped to all fours, knees and elbows on the ground, her ass arched towards the ceiling as she wept openly, despondent and swamped in her yearning for a cephalopod climax.
Yet, as her tears began to abate, Miley could hear a sound behind her. A subtle, yet lustful breathing seemed to crawl over her back, caressing her ears after tickling the nape of her neck. Her skin prickled as Miley closed her eyes, recalling the sensation she had felt years ago, in that room, with that tank. Hoping beyond hope Miley turned…
To find Cthulhu, the Elder God, standing behind her.
“Miley Cyrus!” exclaimed Miley Cyrus as she was struck by an instantaneous feeling of abject terror. This terror, however, quickly melted to an unbounded, passionate, lustful yearning upon noticing the innumerable tentacles surrounding the mouth of the beast. Casting aside all reason and notions of self-preservation, ignoring the obvious anatomical complications which would result from actualizing her newly procured dream, Miley turned and began to slowly crawl towards the Elder God, her eyes glistening with primordial yearning.
“Take me” she whispered to the beast, as she gently ripped the neck of her shirt, exposing a glance of the leather bra beneath.
Cthulhu, obviously confused by the sultry advances of this Nashvillian temptress, paused in existential indecision.
“Sate the desires of this nautical nympho” she purred to the Elder God as she extended the tear, running her fingers along the curvature of her young, firm breasts.
Cthulhu, still confused, found his tentacles engorging in responses to Miley. The motion of her ass as she crawled, the gentle slope of her breasts, and the horseness of her face each excited within the beast feelings previously unknown by his kind.
Frustrated by his lack of dominance, his inability to simply take her as a sexual object, his seemingly offensive hesitation, Miley was finally unable to contain her desires any longer: “MAKE ME YOUR LOVECRAFTIAN BITCH!” she yelled, her demand echoing across the darkened corridor.
“Miley…Cyrus…!” thought Cthulhu, as his mind, birthed in the womb of existence itself, finally comprehended the yearnings of the teenage temptress before him. Cthulhu pounced, all reservations abandoned as he took Miley Cyrus as his own.
Miley uttered a guttural moan as she was leashed in the rubbery, lubricated bounds of the creature. Her limbs extended beyond their normal limits as she was held, spread-eagle, above the floor by the beast’s prodigious phalluses. Miley had thought herself previously overwhelmed, brought to the limits of pleasure by the eight-tentacles of her previous sexual interlocutor. Yet she now knew that innumerable tentacles meant innumerable pleasures as her every pore was caressed, fondled, prodded by the many oral appendages of the Elder God.
As Miley Cyrus acquiesced to the sexual whims of Cthulhu, her every orifice engorged by an overpopulation of phallic prowlers, she grasped the being of her newly found sexual master. Cthulhu was part human, part squid. Miley’s parents, nay, the world itself would be satisfied by Cthulhu’s humanity; Miley’s sexual proclivities could be fulfilled by Cthulhu’s squidness. As Miley resigned to tentacle titillation she finally realized that in Cthulhu she could have…
The Best of Both Worlds